The Cat's Eyes
by The-Goldstein-Sharpshooter
Summary: When America causes England to get into an accident, Arthur has to deal with the interesting side effects. Will this disaster prove to be the last straw for the empire and his ex-colony? Friendship/family fic. T for swearing. British Isles OCs.
1. Chapter 1: Don't go into the basement!

_Hetalia does not belong to me. No pairings in this fic, it's primarily family/friendship. Any critiques are welcomed, feel free to rip into it. Happens in the same universe as "Struggle of the Fatherland", but definitely takes place in 2010 a good few decades after the events in SotF. However, it's not a sequel. This fic is more of a practise for me to write America and England better for SotF, but I'll give it the same amount of care and attention as I do to my other fics. Inspired by "Rabbit Season" by Fretful and "A Curious Incident" by Mouldy-Cheesecake. Enjoy._

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**Chapter 1: Don't go into the basement!**

Alfred banged on the door, ignoring the glares the other residents of this quiet neighbourhood were giving him. "Hey Iggy! Open up, it's me Alfred!" He called out. No reply. Alfred spent another 5 seconds banging on the door. "That's weird...Iggy's usually around at this time of the day..." America tried the doorknob. It works! Alfred flung open the door, nearly tearing the ancient door off its hinges. "Hey Iggy, I'm here!" No response. America walked in, looking around for the former empire. "Iiiiigggggyy!" He yelled out. Only the silence of the big house greeted him as he explored first the living room, and then the kitchen. "Huh...he's not here...?" thought Alfred. "It's 3 o clock! Iggy should be here at least making his yucky tea!" But there was no "Get out of my house, you sodding git!" to greet him. In fact, the entire kitchen was empty. Alfred checked the cupboards, and sure enough, all the different types of teas were still stacked in the shelves, arranged in alphabetical order. Alfred shuddered. "What does Iggy see in that stuff! Coffee is so much better!" A search at the oven showed that Arthur had not used it that day to bake his customary burnt scones. There wasn't even a single crumb anywhere. While Arthur WAS a neat freak, he was nowhere as dedicated as Ludwig when it came to cleanliness. If he made a mess while baking, he'd go outside, enjoy his afternoon tea, before coming back to wash up. The lack of even a smear of jam really confused America. As he turned around, he spotted a door. Not any door. But the GREEN door.

"That's the door to the basement!" Alfred gleefully dashed towards the door. "This is my chance to finally go down there! Who knows, maybe he's there as well, that's why he didn't hear me!" America threw the door open unceremoniously and ran down the staircase. He was feeling pretty excited. He was actually IN the forbidden basement! The one place Iggy never allowed him to. He remembered how England would often tell him to stay out of the place. The last time they had discussed the basement was when Alfred had tried to sneak downstairs ala-ninja a few months back, when Arthur had caught him red handed. Alfred had to admit, England had been pretty scary back then. His eyes were livid, and if the snarl on his face was any indication, England had been very VERY pissed. "If there's one bloody rule that can stay in your bloody head, it's to stay the hell out of my basement! There're things down there that could bloody hurt you, you git!" Alfred had just laughed him off, before making his escape from a very angry England. "I'm America, Iggy! I don't get hurt! I'm the hero!"

Finally, he reached the bottom of the staircase. Jumping off the second final step, he found himself in a very dark place, surrounded with shelves and shelves of books and bottles. "Wow, this place is HUGE! Why didn't Iggy ever tell my about this place? We could've played hide-and-seek down here!" exclaimed America. Walking around, he peered at some of the books and the bottles, but they were all in different languages that Alfred couldn't understand. He saw some German inscriptions, Chinese characters, even French lettering! "OK...since when did Iggy keep anything that was from Francis! This is getting suspicious..." mused Alfred. The books looked pretty old themselves. Alfred had took one out, and immediately got attacked by dust bunnies. Coughing, he opened the cover of the book, and found a date. "1698! Woah!" He could make out some words that *looked* English, but the spellings were all messed up. "This must've been written ages ago! Maybe before I was born!" Alfred put the thick leather-bound book back in its place and continued searching around.

The bottles were really interesting. They were all in a myriad of colours, and the liquids looked thick, like some sort of gloop. "Oh my gosh, what if they're England's failed cooking experiments!" Alfred shuddered. He grabbed one and peered at it. The dark blue liquid inside sloshed, while the written note on the bottle was in German. There was a picture of something there, but it had apparently faded over time. America looked at the bottle sceptically. "I wonder..." He reached for the cork and started pulling, but it seemed stuck. However, he continued to tug and tug.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a page turning echoing from his left. He immediately hid behind one of the cupboards and peeped out. Sure enough, there was England, his back to America, flipping through one of those thick books. The flickering light from the candle just barely illuminated Arthur.

"Hmm...what's Iggy doing?" Alfred couldn't wait any longer. He placed the bottle of liquid back on the top and burst out of his hiding spot. "Hey IGGY!" England turned, the shock on his face quickly replaced with fury and a snarl etched across his face. "Alfred! You sodding git, I thought I told you-"

However, Arthur never got to finish his rant. As Alfred ran out from the cupboard, he accidentally bumped into it. And it so happened that as a result, the very same bottle that he had just placed on the top shelf toppled over the edge and started falling.

"Alfred, watch out!"

The clatter of the candle holder, a pair of hands, and the sound of breaking glass echoed throughout the now dark basement. America fell to the ground. "Hey! That's not very nice Iggy!" Alfred whined. In response, a hand reached out lightning-fast and grabbed America by the collar of his shirt, before yanking him forward roughly. Alfred could just make out England's bright green eyes, and he shrunk under their vicious glare. "America..." Alfred winced. England only ever called him that when he was really, really REALLY angry. Alfred braced himself for the explosion.

Suddenly, Arthur shoved Alfred backwards. "Woah!" Alfred just managed to get his balance before falling. "What's your problem Iggy!" he exclaimed crossly. "I mean, yeah, OK, I went into your basement, but there's nothing dangerous here, I'm not hurt, so there's no need to be so mad or anything!" However, the sharp response Alfred expected did not come. Instead, England replied in a very calm and subdued voice. "America, I'd like you to leave my house. Now." Alfred looked at him confused. "Huh? Wha? Are you ok Ig-"

"Get. Out. Now."

"Come on Arthur, it's just a basement."

"GET OUT YOU SODDING GIT!"

Alfred nearly felt his neck snap as a heavy leather bound book was chucked at his head. Rubbing his neck, he groaned and backed off slowly. He raised his other hand in surrender. "Ok, ok Arthur, I get it! Gee, you don't have to shout..." Alfred turned and stalked out, trying to ignore the burning sensation in his eyes.

As Alfred's footsteps slowly faded away, Arthur quickly relit the candle, his hands trembling. As the wobbling flame of the candle came into being, he grabbed the broken piece of the bottle which still had the label stuck to it. His eyes widened in horror and shock as he read the instructions on the bottle. "Bloody hell..." Immediately, he staggered to his feet, the potion dripping off him, working its magic into his veins...he needed to get out of here immediately, call Scotland or Ireland before it's too late. He scrambled for the staircase and ran up the stairs, praying hard that Alfred had really left. As he burst through the door, he barely made it out of the kitchen when the first spasm of pain shot through his body. England stumbled and fell down, cursing. "Damn...that...wanker..." England growled as he struggled to stand. He got to his feet and used the table as support as he reached for the telephone, just out of his reach. A split second later, a second wave of pain swallowed him, and he nearly bit through his tongue as he tried not to scream. He lost his balance and fell through the door adjacent to him, right into the bathroom. Somehow, he managed to slam the heavy wooden door shut. He took deep breaths and racked his head, trying to think of a counter spell to use against the magic. But he deep down, he knew that it was too late. Magic grew stronger with time, and that potion was one of the first few he had ever made as a child.

Slowly, he felt his canines growing. The first step of the many changes to come. He winced in pain as the teeth slowly inched forward bit by bit, before eventually stopping. However, before he could check out the damage, he felt stabs of pain in his hands. Arthur was forced to bite back a scream as fire coursed through his fingers. A sick cracking sound could be heard in the four walls of the bathroom. Arthur clenched his hands, trying to dull the pain, but it just intensified, and eventually Arthur opened his mouth with a silent scream as his nails cracked and shattered, making way for sharp new claws. Arthur stared at the claws, moving his fingers gingerly. "Shit shit shit shit shit!"

His hands snapped to his ears, now pounding as the blood rushed towards them. He closed his eyes tight as he literally felt them yank upwards by some force. For a brief moment, he couldn't hear a single thing, and there was something pressing on them till his head swam, but suddenly, the bubble of pressure popped, and everything suddenly became so much clearer. Clearer than before. Slowly, he opened his eye. His hands gripped the sink, and he felt his new claws sink into the sink. He pulled himself up and stared at his image in the mirror. His heart sank to his toes. "God no..." he moaned, but sure enough, sticking through his unruly blonde hair, were a pair of cat ears, the same colour as his hair.

Arthur nearly collapsed once again as lightning course through his spine. He grabbed the nearby towel and stuffed his mouth with it, screaming as loud as he could. The sound of his bones popping was amplified by his new ears, and he winced at each snap. He felt the build-up, all at the base of the spine. He closed his eyes in pain, and let the tears fall. "Please...please no!" He begged inwardly. His pleas for clemency were ignored. He yelled as something burst from the base, and tore through his trousers. Arthur turned his head, afraid of what he would see, just in time to see the muscle intertwining with the bones and the nerves. He watched, afraid but unable to turn away as the growth accelerated. Suddenly, the link was made, and he shut his eyes and screamed as the nerves sent signals to his brain about the pain. He trashed his new limb around even as the muscles continued to spread through the bone. Skin stretched over the tissue, and finally a tingling, before the pain slowly ebbed away. Tears falling from his eyes, he opened them a crack. The last stages of the transformation were going on as the fur finished growing on his new tail. He spat out the towel, mangled by his new fangs. He stumbled out of the bathroom and to his bedroom. He had a full length mirror there. He needed to know the damage, in order to fix what had just happened. He sprinted up the staircase and slammed the door shut, locking it. Thank God he had already drawn the curtains earlier in the day. Trembling, he turned towards the mirror, dreading what he would see. When he finally saw his reflection, he groaned.

"I am going to kill that fucking Yank."


	2. Chapter 2: Puisín

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_Hetalia does not belong to me. This chapter is inspired by "Behind the Mask", written by Kimanda. Sorry if it seems really similar! I tried to make North Ireland more childish than Kimanda's North Ireland though. Please read and comment if there's anything you feel that I should be working on!_

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**Chapter 2: Puisín**

The constant ringing of the phone started to grate on Brions nerves, as the Nation attempted to ignore the call and go back to bed. He buried his head in the pillow in an attempt to block out the sound, but it didn't seem to be working. After two more minutes, he swore and flung the blanket off. Grumbling, he stomped towards the phone and snatched it up. "Brion speaking," he rumbled. A familiar voice, and not one he wanted to hear, responded softly.

"Ireland, it's me."

Brion felt like strangling something. He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "What is it, Sasana? I finally have a free day and the last person I want to talk to has just disturbed my nap!" He growled.

England stuttered, "Well...err...umm..." After a few minutes of humming and hawing, the older brother's patience ran out. "Come on Sasana, get to the point!"

Silence, and then England mumbled something incoherent. Brion raised a bushy eyebrow in confusion. "Eh? Speak up Sasana! You're squeaking like a coinín!"

Another pause, and Brion was just about to slam the receiver back onto the phone holder, his Sasana be damned, when a whisper came over the phone. "I got cursed."

"That's it?" Brion stiffled a yawn. "Just cast the counter spell, you amadán." He really didn't want to help Sasana clean up a mess that he had nothing to do with. As far as he was concerned, Sasana and he had gone their separate ways, and nothing short of a war warranted his direct assistance.

"I can't." England replied testily. "It's one of the older spells I made a long time ago with Germania's help. I don't have enough magic within me to get rid of the bloody thing." Brion facepalmed. "Why were you messing around with such powerful magic, Sasana! The old magics are the most difficult to remove! I thought I taught you better than that!"

England snapped back. "It wasn't my fault, it was that wanker Alfred! He snuck into the bloody basement!"

The older Nation groaned. "That sugar-rushed brat of yours! Sasana, why the hell did you not lock the door?" He made a mental note to stranggle America the next time he went to the World Meeting. "I was downstairs reading up on something, when the git snuck in and knocked over the fucking potion!" England argued defensively. Brion sank into a nearby chair and rubbed his temples. He could just feel the migraine coming. "And you're sure you can't remove the spell on your own?" He asked tiredly. "If I could, I wouldn't be calling you." England muttered dejectedly. Brion closed his eyes and stood up. "Alright Sasana, I'll probably regret this, but I'll be there as soon I can." He was about to put the receiver down when England's voice cut through.

"Brion."

"Eh?"

"...Thank you." Brion looked at the receiver in surprise, but before he could reply anything, the line on the other side went dead. Ireland couldn't help but feel worried now. "Sasana has too much pride to ask for help, let alone thank anyone for it..." Brion rushed back to his room and grabbed his shirt. "Pray Alba never finds out about this, or I'll never hear the end of it..." he sighed.

A plane ride later, Brion found himself at his brother's doorstep. He glanced at the old house, full of memories both good and bad. The last time he had been here was for Christmas. It had been a very frosty celebration. It was sad, he reflected, that all of the brothers, with the exception of Alba and Breatain Beag, never got along. He and Sasana ignored each other and every conversation with Tuaisceart Éireann just ended with them fighting. In fact, only an inebriated Sasana could bring all the brothers together as they laughed at England's drunken antics.

He was about to knock on the door when he spotted a note underneath the doormat. Picking it up, he read it out aloud. "Ireland, the spare key is under the hydrangeas. They're the purple flowers growing in clusters." Puzzled, he looked at England's garden, and nearly tore the paper in half. The garden was swarmed with flowers of difference colours and sizes, and there were definitely more than ten types of "purple in colour and growing in clusters" flower. "Sasana..." he growled. His head throbbed as he marched towards the garden, intent on murdering every single flower he could get his hands on.

Thirty minutes, and two hundred flower pots, later ("How did Sasana fit all these plants here!"), Brion finally found the blasted key. He shoved it into the lock and turned it. The door swung open and he stepped inside. "Oi, Sasana, where are you, you amadán!" he called out. A noise came from the ceiling, before he heard England's strained voice. "Upstairs, Brion. Make sure you lock the door before you come up". Brion grumbled about paranoid younger brothers and locked the door before trudging up the stairs. Finally, he came up to the bedroom and found his younger brother on the floor wrapped in quilts. His fringe hung over his eyes as he stared at the ground, and his mouth was a single tense line. Brion cleared his throat to catch his attention. "Alright Sasana, I'm here. What's the problem?"

"!" To his surprise, England trembled. He continued to avert his eyes from Brion, but Ireland noticed the growing red blush on his cheeks. The quilt was wrapped tighter around England as he bit his lower lip. For a moment, Brion didn't see England, the all mighty ex-empire. He saw a shivering and clingy boy that was nothing more than a burden to his older brothers, always wailing for help when the Roman Empire came around. He suppressed the chuckle building inside him at the memory of the cute young Nation and took a step closer towards him. "Come on Sasana, you have to show me what's wrong with you." England fidgeted and squirmed, before muttering angrily, "It's not a fucking laughing matter." Brion shook his head, a smile threatening to split his face. "Sasana, you can't imagine how adorable you look like now." England's face burned with humiliation. "Ireland, if you so much as breath a word of this to Scotland, or Wales, or North Ireland, or, or anyone, God help me I'll set the navy on you!" He hissed. "Alright, alright, you have my word!" Brion quickly replied, annoyed at England's aggressive behaviour. "You'd think he'd be less grumpy, seeing as I bothered to make the trip!" He grumbled inwardly.

England's whole body tensed, and slowly he let the quilt fall to the ground.

Silence.

"SWEET JAYSUS!"

"Shut UP, you sodding git!"

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Scotland and Wales strode down the pathway, with Northern Ireland lagging behind. All three of them had received a text message requesting their presence at England's house a few hours ago.

"Sasana's gone and got himself into trouble. Need all your help. That includes you, Tuaisceart Éireann. Don't tell anyone about this, or Sasana will skin all of us alive." Scotland was suspicious as to why Ireland was even there in the first place. "Are ye sure ye dinnae hear anythin' from England 'imself?" Scotland turned to Wales. "This could jus be a joke by tha idiot Ireland." Wales shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, to be honest," his soft voice answered. "I tried calling England after I got the message, but he didn't answer the call." Northern Ireland just muttered something irately from the back. As the three brothers finally made it to the house, Scotland walked up and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, and the door swung open to reveal a very giddy looking Ireland, doubling up in silent laughter. Alarm bells started ringing in Scotland's head.

"Alright Ireland, wha's tha emergency? Did England choke on those mini nukes he calls scones?"

The brown haired nation shook his head, but the grin was still plastered on his face. "No, but the fool just got himself into some really deep shite."

Wales and Scotland traded glances at each other. "Ireland, how many have you had already?" inquired Wales carefully. "I thought we had an agreement that no one's supposed to drink when England's around? We don't want a repeat of last Christmas..." Behind the two, North Ireland shuddered.

"I'm as dry as a desert! But come on in, and I'll let the eeijet explain it himself." Ireland chuckled and stepped aside to let them in.

The two brothers walked right in, but North Ireland hung outside, glowering at his brother warily. The smile slipped from Ireland's face as he glared in return. "Come on in, brat." Northern Ireland's body froze at the icy tone his brother used on him, before he replied angrily, "Then get out of the way. You're hogging the door." Scotland sighed in exasperation and Wales hurried to stand in between the two brothers as Ireland took a threatening step forward. "Come on, this isn't a time to be fighting!" he pleaded with them. For a moment, both Irelands just continued to stare hatefully at each other, but eventually Ireland just spat outside and stomped back in. Northern Ireland stuck out his tongue at his brother's retreating back, only to earn a stern look from Wales. The youngest of the brothers sulked and followed his brothers in.

Ireland led them upstairs towards England's bedroom, but paused when he reached the door. Turning, he whispered to the three Nations following him, a smirk on his face. "Whatever you do, don't laugh. Sasana's pretty pissed as it is, it wouldn't do it make the puisín anymore agitated now." Northern Ireland looked at his brother, the usual scowl replaced with a confused expression. "Puisín? What are you talking-" Ireland knocked and then flung the door open before his younger brother could finish. All three of the other Nations stared, before simultaneously collapsing on the ground from the strain of holding in their laughter. Scotland looked like he was just about to die. Even North had finally managed to crack a smile, and Wales had taken to banging his hand on the wall as he shook with laughter. Ireland doubled up yet again as tears threatened to pour down his face.

England scowled at his brothers as they continued to roll on the floor. "You idiots, not so loud!" He snarled. Scotland got up slowly, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Och England, this be too much for me ta bare!" He gestured at the pair of cat ears that poked through England's messy hair. "I always knew ye were as hissy as a cat, but this, this takes it ta a whole new level!" "What on earth did you do?" Wales wheezed, trying his best to calm himself down. North Ireland was still incapacitated, while a breathless Ireland answered Wales's question for the increasingly embarrassed and infuriated England. "Sa...sasana..haha...he got into...an accident...with Meiriceá..."gasped Ireland. "Good lord, that boy has just made my day!" giggled Wales.

England growled. "If you lot are done, I'd like to get started on a cure." His new tail flicked viciously through the air, matching his stormy mood, while his forest green eyes had turned into dangerous slits.

In the end, it took a full thirty minutes before all the brothers could finally calm themselves down and get to work. Scotland examined the broken pieces of the bottle with a pair of gloves, while Ireland and Wales dealt with England. North went down to the basement to try and see whether there would be any clues in any of England's books that would help. England just continued to cast dirty looks at all his brothers, as his new ears caught the tiny sniggers that popped out now and then.

Wales leaned forward to grasp the tail. England jerked it out of his hand. "Don't." His new limb was unfortunately, very sensitive. If he even as much brushed it against anything, it would send tingling shivers through his entire spine. Wales rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "Interesting..." He looked at his transformed brother. "England, do you remember when you exactly made this potion?" England thought hard. "I think it was around 450 AD, I'm not too sure," he admitted. Ireland whistled low. "Sasana, that was a really long time ago." England glared at Ireland, his eyes reflecting his annoyance. "Yes, I know that, I don't need the reminder!" England retorted sharply. Ireland dropped the hand he had been checking out abruptly as the claws suddenly extended. "Sasana! Be careful! I nearly got raked!" scolded the older Nation. England struggled to keep his explosive temper in, taking deep breaths. "Sorry, didn't mean it," he said through gritted teeth.

Scotland walked back towards his brothers, pulling off the gloves. Gingerly holding them with the tip of his second finger and his thumb, he threw them into the bin before turning back to them. "Good news an' bad news, lads" he said. Jabbing his thumb at the bottle, he explained, "Tha good news is tha it dinnae seem like tha spell will get any worse. So ye don't haf ta worry aboot growin' whiskers an' stuff." Scotland snickered, but quickly cleared his throat after England threw him his most withering look. He continued in a more serious tone. "How'ver, it is pretty ancient magic. Ta be 'onest, I sinc'rely doubt tha ev'n if we were to combine all our spells together, we would be able ta cure ye."

England started to feel panic rising inside. "Meaning...?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Ireland patted England on the bank sympathetically. "Meaning that you better start liking fish, Sasana."

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_Translations:_

_Irish_

_Sasana = England_

_coinín = rabbit_

_amadán = idiot_

_Alba = Scotland_

_Breatain Beag = Wales_

_Tuaisceart Éireann = North Ireland_

_Shite = shit_

_eeijet = idiot_

_Puisín = kitten_

_Meiriceá = America_


	3. Chapter 3: A Cure?

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_Hetalia does not belong to me, or I'd have sued Funimation for giving Arthur such a whiny voice. *facepalms* BTW, I made some minor mistakes in the past chapter, which I'd like to clarify. The Irish for Wales is not Cymru, its Breatain Beag, and that I'm refering to Northern Ireland, which is separate from North Ireland. Thanks to Kimanda for pointing out the mistakes to me! I also put in the wrong date for when England made the potion. It's not 1060 AD, but 450 AD, which is, admitedly, a big gap. Sorry!_

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**Chapter 3: A Cure?**

Arthur woke up to the sound of pouring rain. Bleary eyed, he grabbed the alarm clock and groaned when he read the red digits. 3.23 am. "Bloody rain!" he swore. He tried to bury himself underneath the blanket to dampen the sound, but it just got hot and stuffy underneath after a few minutes. "Damn it!" He threw the blanket off and stomped off to the bathroom. Flicking on the switch, he was temporarily blinded by the light. "Urgh..." Squinting and shielding his eyes, he felt for the sink blindly, and then the tap when his fingers felt the cold ceramic. Eventually, his eyes adjusted, and he opened them. Turning the tap, he splashed some cold water onto his face. Enjoying the cooling sensation, he turned it off and looked at his reflection. Normal. Perfectly normal Arthur Kirkland was staring back at him. However, what was new was the weird-shaped pendent that was swinging from his neck. Arthur fingered the iron charm and stared at it with increasing dislike as he replayed the scene from a few days ago in his mind...

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"Are...are you joking!"

Ireland and Scotland exchanged pitiful glances at each other. Wales muttered quietly, "I'll go make some tea," and scooted off towards the kitchen. Arthur looked like he was about to explode. "You're...you're telling me that all of us combined don't have enough bloody magic to remove a bleeding curse that I prepared as a child!" he spluttered. Scotland motioned helplessly. "It's na like tha old days anymor, England." He explained. "Surely ye haf tha sense ta notice how the Fae be dis'ppearin'! Our magic be gettin' weaker and weaker 'cause people these days na longer believe. Ta them, it's all hocus pocus an Harry Potter! An ev'n tha few who still haf tha faith only haf a smidge of magic in them, or ev'n none at all. We'd be lucky ta ev'n conjure up a wee storm cloud." Snarling, Arthur paced the room, his ears flattening across his head as he tried to think of a way out of this mess. "I refuse to admit that I am stuck like...like this," he pointed at himself, "for the rest of my life! There has to be something, anything that we can do!" "You could always wear hats and coats, Sasana." Ireland suggested helpfully. Arthur's only reply was a death glare that nearly cracked the mirror on the wall.

At that moment, Northern Ireland came back to the room, carrying a thick book with him, his young face smug. "Hey, guess what? I found something that might help!" he announced proudly. Wales had returned as well, carrying a tray with five cups and a pot of tea. He smiled at Northern Ireland. "That's good work, North!" Placing the tray down on the table, he took the book from the proud boy who was shooting superior glances at the other Ireland, who coolly ignored him. "It's this page," he directed. Wales flipped to that section of the book, while the other brothers crowded around him. Reading the old English, he said a few, "Hmms..." and "Oh..."s, before addressing his brothers. "Northern Ireland's got it! I can't believe we didn't think of this earlier!" Ireland gaped "An dáiríre atá tú!" while Scotland gave the boy a slap on the back. "Good job lad!"

However, Arthur couldn't help but feel sceptical. Not that he did not trust North, but North was the youngest out of all of them here, and had been born at the start of the decline of magic in Britain. Unlike he, Scotland, Ireland and Wales, North had not grown up with the Fae, and thus his connection with them was average, at best. "On the other hand..." Arthur winced when he caught sight of his reflection on the mirror on the wall. "I guess it can't be helped..."

He peered over Wales's shoulders. This was one of his oldest books, probably one of the first few he ever had. As his eyes adjusted to the spidery letters, they widened when he recognised the handwriting. "Morrígan..." he hissed. North Ireland gave him a weird look. "Did you say something, England?" He asked.

Cursing his carelessness, Arthur quickly told him "No, you must've misheard me." His other brothers, if they had heard him or not, made no notion that they had. North didn't looked convinced and was about to press the matter further when a loud "Eureka!" brought the attention back to Wales. Jabbing his finger at one passage, he looked at England happily. "This should solve your problem." Arthur scanned the article quickly, while Wales continued explaining. "Instead of trying to remove the curse, we can weaken it instead. It takes considerably less power, and with all four of us here, we shouldn't have any problems casting the spell. Even North can chip in." Scotland and Ireland gave each other a high five, while North and Wales smiled to each other with relief.

"Except that there is a problem with casting the spell."

Arthur's voice cut the celebrations short. "This spell is, at best, only a temporary measure." He argued. "And the spell has to be contained in an item with a considerable amount of magical essence inside." Crossing his arms around his chest, Arthur looked at each of his brother's in turn. "Do any of us have anything that even remotely fits the criteria?" All the brothers avoided his gaze, and Arthur felt his hopes dashed against the wall yet again.

"I do!"

All four of the older brothers stared at Northern Ireland's smirk. Rummaging inside his bag, he took out an iron charm twisted into a shape that all the brothers knew well. "Tha Triquetra?" Scotland inquired. North Ireland nodded. "Yep! These things are supposed to have tons of magic inside them, right?" Ireland scoffed. "Yes, but those are the Triquetra of the past! Where did you get that one from, a souvenir shop?" North's glared hatefully at his brother. "I so did not! The Fairies gave it to me!" He yelled. "They said that I might need it someday, so I carried it around with me!" Ireland just jeered back, looming over his younger brother. "Yes, the daoine sídhe." Sarcasm just dripped off his voice. "I supposed that next you're going to say that it was Uonaidh herself who bestowed it on you, eh?" "She so did!" "Bréagadóir!" "I am not!"

Arthur rubbed his temples as the two Irelands continued to bicker. Scotland and Wales just looked on helplessly. The three of them had promised Ireland that they wouldn't get involved with the spat between him and his estranged brother, but that didn't mean that they weren't going to close one eye to their arguments. Ireland was so much bigger than his younger brother, and like all the siblings, had a really bad temper. He has yet to actually physically hit his younger brother, falling back on taunts and insults instead, but there was always the possibility that one day he would snap...

Finally, it's Arthur who loses his patience. "That's enough!" He roared, and slammed his fist on the table. Both the Irelands immediately stop. Northern Ireland's lips were quivering but his eyes, while tearful, were proud and strong. Ireland just threw his younger brother a look of utmost contempt. Arthur pitied Northern Ireland. He remembers how it was like as a small boy, to be pinned down by Alba, while Eire gives him exactly that same look...

Arthur shakes off the memory, and walks over to North. Extending his hand, he spoke in a dead serious voice. "There's only one way to settle this, isn't it? Give me the Triquetra." North's green eyes meet Arthur's and meekly he dropped the charm in Arthur's hand. Concentrating, Arthur started chanting the basic spell to detect magic. As the words roll off his tongue, he feels something stirring with him. Calling out to it, he guides his magic out from him, prodding the item, exploring both the inside and outsides of the knot.

A split second later and Arthur crashed against the wall.

"England!" Wales dropped the book and ran over to him.

"I'm...I'm fine..." he coughed. Quickly, Scotland goes over and helps him up as well. "Thank you," Arthur mutters. His body shakes as Scotland supports him. Even now, he could still feel the power that had reacted so strongly to his magic. Wales looked worried as he asked his brother, "What happened England! Did you cast the spell wrongly?" Arthur shakes his head. "No...my spell just got repelled." Gently pushing Scotland away, Arthur walked over and picked up the innocent looking trinket. But now, he can feel the energy inside blazing and swirling around. Turning to his brothers, he concluded, "There is definitely strong magic inside this Triquetra. North was telling the truth." He interrupted Ireland just as he was about to open his mouth, "I know of no one else left on Earth who can command this level of power except for the Fae." Northern Ireland's face lit up as Arthur gave him a pat on the head. "You've done me a great favour lad." He told him gently. "Thank you." His younger brother blushed and ducked his head, unused to the praise. Ireland's face was as black as a thunderstorm, but for once he held his tongue.

Scotland cleared his throat. "So we goin ta do it, or wha?" he asked. Wales shrugged. "We might as well, seeing as we've got what we needed." Ireland just jerked his head in what Arthur guessed would be a "yes" notion, and North Ireland's eyes shone excitedly. "We're gonna do magic?" He looked like a kid at Christmas. "But I suppose, this would be his first major spell..." Arthur smiled ruefully. He recalled his first spell and the interesting outcome of turning France into a frog for cutting his hair after he had worked so hard to get it long.

As Wales showed Northern Ireland what to do, Scotland, Ireland and Arthur started drawing the necessary symbols and shapes needed based on the diagram in the book. However, as all three brothers worked, Arthur had no doubt what each was thinking off as the pattern slowly started to take shape. "Definitely Morrígan's work..." he thought grimly. He could almost see that flash of red hair and the poisonous grin. His claws nearly snapped the chalk in half as he felt his temper starting to rise.

Eventually, the magic circle was complete. North Ireland shut the curtains, while Arthur placed the Triquetra in the centre, before taking his place between Wales and Ireland. All five brothers stood around the circle and called upon the heritage within their blood, that which they all shared. The songs of the past, the whispers of the trees, the feel of the plains on their feet, the cooling presence of the rain... Focusing, they closed their eyes and chanted the Celtic words, and soon the circle started to glow a light blue. The defence mechanisms of the charm were starting to activate in response to the energy in the air as a white light started to flare from it. From each Nation, their magic poured out into the circle, trying to enchant the Triquetra. Scotland's magic was a fierce green that slammed against the protective barriers around the charm. Ireland's chipped at the defences, a deep green that poked in and around the cracks where Scotland had done his work to prevent the Triquetra from reforming its defences while Scotland prepared the next attack. Wales's grass green strengthened his brothers', feeding them power and endurance, while Northern Ireland's pale green enforced the bonds between all the different magics, weaving them together and making them ten times as stronger. And finally, England, who had been charging up his own spell, released his magic, a forest green as beautiful as emeralds, straight into the Triquetra. He bent all his will into the spell, trying to force the energy inside the symbol to accept theirs, and not push it away. Beads of sweat started appearing on all their brows as the ancient force which had inhibited the Triquetra resisted. Arthur started to struggle with the spell. Had he really grown that weak after all these years? There was no telling what chaos would occur if all the unleashed energy were bounced back onto the brothers. His own will started to waver.

Suddenly, Arthur thought he heard a familiar giggle, felt the cool touch of a hand on his forehead, someone whispering his name...long raven black hair and dark chocolate brown eyes? A sense of nostalgia filled him. He felt his strength renew and his resolve steeled as he drew more and more of his magic. He was Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom, England, Britain, Albion. He would not give up, never give up! With a primal yell, he flung all his power into his spell.

There was a bright flash of light as the Triquetra shone with a new green glow. It hovered in the air momentarily, before the light vanished and it dropped to the ground, a normal piece of metal.

Arthur collapsed on the ground greatly weakened. On his knees and hands, he sucked deep breaths of air in. His brothers, likewise, were also equally exhausted.

Slowly, Arthur crawled towards the charm. His trembling fingers stretched out, and he grasped the piece of iron with his hands. His brothers looked at him, half afraid to know whether they had succeeded or not.

Arthur turned towards his siblings, an uncharacteristic grin on his face. "We did it."

Scotland and Wales both let out great sighs of relief. Northern Ireland cheered happily, before toppling down onto Ireland, but this time, Ireland cheered with him and helped support him. Arthur found himself laughing with his siblings as they celebrated their success. And for a while, with all five of them lying on the floor tired and spent, they forget that they are the British Isles, that they are Nations. Instead, they are just five brothers, sharing their happiness and joy.

Outside the window, a light blue silhouette watched the brothers, before disappearing into the night sky.

Arthur whipped his head around quickly, staring at the window. "Was that...someone there...?" he wonders. "I definitely felt something..." He recalled that same feeling when he had been struggling and how it had helped him calm down to strike back at the Triquetra. Before he could get up to investigate, Northern Ireland tugs on his arm. "England! You should try on the charm now!" his younger brother advices him. Wales nodded. "Yes. We know the spell worked, so we've just got to test it out now," he agreed. He took out a piece of string and tied it around the Triquetra, before handing it back to Arthur. "There, now you can wear it, like a necklace or something."

Arthur looked at the charm, nervous. All eyes were on him. Gingerly, he takes it and puts it over his neck. Suddenly, a loud crack resounds through the room. Arthur grits his teeth as his long tail shoots back into his body, while he feels his ears move down back to their normal position and shape. The fangs in his mouth shrink back to their normal size, and he feels his claws retract, and human nails growing in their place.

Quickly looking at himself in the mirror, Arthur let out a whoop of delight. He was back to normal!

He swooped towards North Ireland and gave him a tight hug. "Thank you, Thank you Shane!" He exclaims. North's entire face turns red at the mention of his human name, and he just squeaked something that sounded like "you're welcome." Scotland found himself the next victim of England's hugging fiesta, and like his younger brother, blushed furiously. Wales and Ireland had time to prepare themselves at least, as England thanked his siblings over and over again.

A few minutes later, and the brothers were all getting ready to go home. It was getting late, and they all had work to do the next day. England smiled fondly at each of them and wished them all good night. Wales was the last to leave. Just as he was about to go though, he turned to Arthur and requested "Can I have a word with you, England? I won't be long, I promise." Arthur was a bit taken aback with his grave tone, before quickly recovering his composure. "Sure, do you want to come in?" Wales shook his head. "No, there's no need. I just needed to clarify something about the Triquerta." Arthur glanced down at the relic that he was now wearing.

Wales carried on. "I don't think you need this reminder, but...although it may have nullified your curse, it certainly hasn't cured it. I have a suspicion that if the Triqueta was taken off, you will immediately transform again. You have to make sure that you wear it at all times." Wales paused for a moment, before continuing. "Also, while we just did some very powerful magic back there, you have to remember what was originally inside the Triqueta." Fingering the charm, Arthur asked his brother, "What do you mean?" Wales said, "The force that was inhibiting the Triqueta was very ancient, and very strong. I'm, honestly speaking, still quite surprised it worked. However, there may be times when the spell we cast may falter, due to the strength of the original magic inside." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?" "Meaning that the spell we cast on it may not be strong enough to completely suppress the curse. Have you noticed that even though you're back to normal, your hearing's probably still better than average?" Arthur listened hard and was shocked to find that his brother was telling the truth. From the doorstep of his house, he could hear the ticking of the clock inside the living room clearly, as if he was in the room itself. "I'm right, aren't I? And that means that our spell hasn't completely worked. All five of us may have bound the spell to it, but there will be times where the bonds will be weak, and thus, you may temporarily fall back into the curse."

"Oh." Arthur's face fell as his shoulders drooped at the bad news.

Wales put his hand on Arthur's shoulder comfortingly. "Come now England, cheer up! You know the basics of magic. It's all about control. Just make sure you keep your mind clear, and reign in that temper of yours!" his brother spoke sternly. "Any magic becomes weaker when the mind becomes distracted, so try not to work yourself into a fit, alright? In the mean time, I'll go home and check my own spell books, see what I can find." Arthur sighed and replied "Yes, Wales." Wales, satisfied, shook his brother's hand and left the house, leaving Arthur alone to try and figure out how he was to avoid getting angry for the next few days...next few days...next few...

He suddenly realised what event was happening in the coming week. Swearing, he kicked the door in frustration. "Bloody World Summit!"

* * *

...Arthur went back to his bed and sat on it, but he doubted that he would be able to get anymore sleep. The rain seemed to have picked up in intensity, and by now thunder and lightning had joined in to make life horrible for him. He picked up the Triqueta again, staring at it. The charm seemed to glint innocently at him, but as lightning flashed and briefly illuminated the room, his reflection was reflected on the metal and instead of normal green eyes, there were green cat-like slits. Arthur moaned and flumped back on the bed. Facing the ceiling, he went over his situation one more time. The World Meeting was in two days from now, and it had to be held in New York, had to be hosted by that hamburger-eating slob, and had to take place on the day before the 4th of July. He stretched his arms on the bed and wondered why God hated him so much.

A crow squawked outside, and Arthur gritted his teeth, before remembering that he couldn't lose his temper. Taking deep breaths, he counted to ten and decided to try for sleep once again, although the pattering of the rain was amplified by his new hearing, so that now it sounded more like gunfire battering the roof, just like back in World War Two...he punched his pillow in exasperation.

The black bird sat on the tree outside watching the Nation through the window. Its black soulless eyes reflected nothing inside, and it let out one more cry before flying off into the storm.

* * *

_Oh god, I really suffered writing this chapter...anyone got any suggestions how to write head turning motions without using the word turn? I think I've abused it! Scotland's accent is cool, but writing it...just the few sentences in this chapter took me 30 minutes! Anyway, hope you guys enjoy! There's a poll on my profile page as well regarding the Cat's Eyes, please check it out, it's really important for me so that I can decide whether to go down one plotline or the other. Also, I probably will not be updating the Cat's Eyes until I finish rewriting Struggle of the Fatherland, and then I have exams coming in a month, so there might not be updates for a while, sorry guys!_

_Thanks to Kimanda for correcting my phail Irish in the previous fic, I've made the adjustments already, and thanks to live-like-its-heaven-on-earth for helping me out awith early British history. If you haven't read their fanfictions about Arthur, go and read it now! =D_

_**Irish **words:_

_An dáiríre atá tú! : Are you serious!_

_daoine sídhe: I'm not too sure whether this is correct, but they're the Irish equivalent of fairies. Here in my fic, they're the same thing._

_Uonaidh: The Queen of the Fairies._

_Bréagadóir: Liar_

_**Misc**:_

_Triquetra: It's a Celtic knot that is often used in Celtic art and decoration. However, some people think that it could've been used to symbolise the threefold nature of the Morrígan. Yes, the same Morrígan who Arthur apparently dislikes._

_Morrígan: She's one of the main goddesses in Celtic mythology, the others being Brigit and Epona, I think. Goddess of war, death, prophecy and passionate love, she often comes in the form of a crow. No wonder Arthur doesn't like her. Sometimes she's portrayed as three separate goddesses instead, but I decided to make her one person here. Easier to write and less trouble coming up with personalities. =P_

_And yes, there are some unanswered questions in this chapter, that may not be answered until very late in the fic. It's done on purpose to keep you readers on your toes. ;) That's all for now, remember that all feedback is good to me! Sorry to all people of Celt heritage if I'm butchering your culture, I'm doing my best to research as much as I can! If you have any complaints, feel free to send me a message._


	4. Chapter 4: Of pirozhki & global warming

__

_I know I said I wasn't going to update for the time being, but this idea popped into my head and refused to go away until I wrote it down. The Muses are cruel indeed..._

_I don't own Hetalia or its characters._

* * *

**Chapter 4: Of pirozhki and global warming**

Matthew sighed as Alfred ranted and complained. He had flown over for the World Summit and had just settled down in his hotel room when his brother had suddenly barged in, and without a single word of greeting, launched into another tirade about their former guardian being overly cranky and overly sensitive and not answering his calls ever since the accident, which according to America, "was totally not my fault that he had to keep such a lousy cupboard!". "He's been going on about this for one week now..."Matthew muttered softly to himself. He just sat quietly on the sofa, his arms around Kumajirou. He couldn't even catch what America was saying, he was speaking so fast, but Matthew would bet all the Maple syrup in his country that it had to do with the tiff he had with their former caretaker last week. "There's no way I'll be able to get a word in at the rate he's going, eh, Kumajirou?" whispered the personification of Canada to his pet white bear.

"Who?"

"I'm Canada."

Alfred suddenly rounded on his younger brother. "Hey Mattie, ARE YOU LISTENING!" Matthew nearly fell off the seat. Keeping one arm around his pet, he rubbed his left ear ruefully. "Yes Alfred..." he muttered. Alfred crossed his arms. "Good, cause I'm not done yet!" Matthew had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes as Alfred was about to continue his rant when suddenly, the sound of "God Save the Queen" filled the room. Alfred's voice slowly died out, while Matthew picked up his cell and checked the caller ID just in case, and sure enough, it was Arthur. Alfred stared at the cell, and for a tiny fraction of a second, both brothers looked at each other.

Two seconds later, and Alfred was wrestling with Matthew for the phone.

"Get...off...me!" wheezed Canada, as he tried to keep the mobile away from America's hands.

"Come on Mattie!" Alfred pinned his younger brother down while trying to snatch the phone away.

As the phone continued ringing, both brothers continued the epic fight for the phone, while Kumajirou just took a nap in the corner. "Idiots..." muttered the bear.

Eventually, Alfred slammed Matthew to the ground hard. The poor Nation passed out, and Alfred happily claimed his prize. Arthur was still calling, which surprised Alfred. "Usually, Iggy just hangs up after this long..." Alfred shrugged and answered the call.

"Canada, what took you so long!" England's voice was sharp and stern. "I've been ringing you for the past five minutes, and-" Alfred decided to cut the nagging short."Hi Iggy! It's me, the hero! Mattie's a bit busy at the moment, so I'll gladly take the call!" Said Matty was still lying on the ground, seeing stars over his head.

For a moment, there was no reply, only the sound of heavy breathing. Alfred was puzzled and asked, "Hello? Iggy? I said I'll take the message." The only reply he got was a click, and the conversation was over. Alfred sighed and flopped onto the couch. "I can't believe he's still mad at me?" He complained to an otherwise passed out Canada. "I mean, the only things in that basement were books and England's failed cooking!" He ran his hand through his hair, his eyes raised to the ceiling. "Seriously, that guy needs to lighten up!" He glanced down back at his younger brother. "Isn't that right...err...who are you again?"

Matthew's only reply to that was a weak, "I'm...Cana...da."

"Who?"

Too caught up in his righteous fury and demanding justice, Alfred cackled evilly. "I'll show that old man! He can't ignore me forever!" Pushing a button on his phone, Alfred waited for the other side to pick up. After two rings, a few swear words popped out as the owner of the number answered. Alfred's evil grin just spread even wider. "Hey, sorry to tell you this, but there's been a little mistake..." He couldn't wait to see the look on Iggy's face tomorrow.

* * *

Arthur snapped his phone shut and seethed. "Bloody git! Will I ever be able to get away from that twat!" It had taken all his will power to keep his anger from bursting forth. He still hadn't forgiven America yet for his little escapade that had brought Arthur much shame. "If he thinks the water's under the bridge, he's sorely mistaken!" Arthur had been planning to ask Canada for his assistance in keeping the sugar-crazy American away from him, but it looks like the only one he could depend on was himself.

The taxi was pulling into the hotel. Getting out, Arthur paid the driver and carried his suitcase of luggage inside. Dressed in a stiff brown suit, a tie and shiny black shoes, he looked every inch a gentleman. But tucked inside the shirt was the Triquetra, the cool metal sticking onto his chest.

After getting his key, Arthur quickly stepped into the elevator. "Just a few floors and I'll be in my nice bed, enjoying a cup of tea and getting a good night's rest." He comforted himself. "I don't have to see that sodding Yank until tomorrow, so I might as well enjoy myself till then. There shouldn't even be any other Nations in this hotel, I specifically requested it!" Arthur's mood was so good that he even started to hum "Yellow Submarine" as the doors of the elevator slowly closed. Unfortunately, he hadn't noticed that there was another occupant inside, until a familiar chill started seeping into his joints. Arthur blanched.

"Good evening Kirkland. Are you staying in this hotel as well, da?"

Turning his head to the right slowly, Arthur felt his spirits drop. Standing in the corner of the elevator was none other than Russia. The tall Nation smiled at him, his purple eyes twinkling with delight. Or was it malice? "The hotel I booked had made a mistake, and I had to quickly find another one. It is good coincidence that I met you here. I was worried that I was the only one. Toris, Raivis and Eduord are all staying somewhere else, and I thought that I might have to eat dinner alone. I do miss Toris's pirozhki..." Arthur gulped and tried to suppress the shiver that ran down his spine at the thought of having Russia as his roommate.

Meanwhile, in a hotel a few streets away, Romano glowered at his new room. "Damn that American bastard, giving me the wrong room! I told him I wanted the room near Spain, damn it!" Stomping in, he threw his luggage onto the bed and grumbled "Why was it is important for me to take this damn room anyway!" Too busy complaining, Romano failed to notice the torn up card in the wastepaper basket with the name "Reserved for Ivan Braginski" written on it...

Drawing himself up as best as he can, Arthur tried to reply firmly "Unfortunately Russia, I am very tired, and I don't think I will be able to join you tonight. The flight was really bad, and I'm jet lagged. I really do need my rest for tomorrow." He threw in a fake yawn, for good measure.

Russia just sighed. "I see...it is unfortunate then. I was hoping to share some stories with you about my home country and how it is doing." The platinum blonde giant sounded very upset. Arthur was flicking his eyes fretfully from Russia to the door. "Come on, come one...just a few more floors..."

Suddenly, Russia put his hand on his shoulder. "How about breakfast, da? We could order it from my room tomorrow morning." The nation's voice was friendly, but his grip on England was so tight that it started to hurt. Arthur felt himself tense up. He was no coward, and he could hold his ground with his sharp tongue if he had to, but Russia was a different story. Not that he feared Russia, but being around the unstable man was dangerous. Unpredictable. Not safe. Even if you are a Nation.

The elevator let out a chime and the doors slid open. Arthur immediately shot out without a second glance behind, blabbering to Russia "oh-look-its-my-floor-well-it-was-nice-to-meet-you-again-see-you-tommorow-have-a-good-night-and-hope-you-sleep-well-good-bye" as fast as he could, before dashing down the hallway. Turning a corner, he found his room, fumbled for the key, opened the door, rushed in and slammed it shut.

Arthur let out the breath that he didn't even know he had been holding in since Russia had touched him. "Just...fucking...great!" Snarling, he tossed his suitcase onto the floor and slumped against the door. Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the throbbing headache that came as a result of lack of sleep and stress from all the events of the past few days. He put his face into his hands. "Damn it..."

A few minutes later and Arthur was dressed in his pyjamas, sipping a cup of tea. Spread out on the table was his points for his presentation on global warming for tomorrow night. "Alright!" he thought determinedly to himself. "In pain or not, I've got a job to do, and I'll bloody do it well!" Trying to force the ache away, he picked up his pen and was about to go through his notes one more time when a knock on the door interrupted him. Arthur felt his fingers twitch in annoyance as he reluctantly got up to check who it was.

Peering through the peephole, he felt relieved. "Just the bellboy." Unlocking the door, he opened it. "What can I do for you, lad?" he asked. The boy looked positively terrified, and his hands were shaking as he held up a letter. ", sir, th-th-the gentleman next door asked me to-to-to send this to y-y-you," he stammered. Arthur looked at the letter curiously and reached for it. However, his fingers tingled at the odd coldness of the piece of paper. Arthur yanked his hand backwards and stared at the letter with growing dread. "No...it can't be...I requested..." he thought hopelessly to himself. But there was no mistake. Scared hotel staff + freezing cold letter + Russia in the elevator + "gentlemen" next door could only mean one thing...

"Hello again, Kirkland."

Arthur felt his goosebumps raise as none other than Russia came out of the room adjacent to his, plastic smile still in place. The bellboy whispered something along the lines of no tips required, and did a 180 out of the place, leaving poor Arthur to deal with the giant man.

"I did not know that we are neighbours, Kirkland. Such good fortune, da?"

"Y-yes, it is." Arthur was secretly screaming in his head, swearing in such colourful language that he could've given South Italy a run for his money.

Russia just grinned back, but far from relaxing Arthur, it just caused his heart to go into hyperdrive.

"I asked the boy to send you my invitation for lunch tomorrow, but when I heard your voice outside, I thought that it'd be more polite if I came out and asked you myself."

Arthur gulped.

"Th-There's no need Russia. I...I already promised Canada I'd go with him for lunch!" Lying through his teeth, he prayed that after this Russia would just go back to his room and not bother him for the night.

"Ah, really? Then, would you mind if I accompanied the two of you?"

"Umm, I, I don't know, I'll have to ask Canada, it was a reservation after all, and-"

"I'm sure management would have enough place for one more."

"It's a really famous restaurant; it's always booked out..."

"Then we can go to another one. There are plenty of good places to eat here, da?"

Arthur felt a spark of impatience overcome his usual wariness of Russia. Planting his hands on his sides, he told Russia firmly, "I'm sorry Russia, but Canada and I have long been planning this, and it would be unfair to Canada if we have to cancel this reservation." He turned to go back into his room, making a point to not only lock, but barricade the door once he was away from the crazy commie.

For the second time that day, a hand slammed down on his shoulder. Whirling around, Arthur was about to snap something when he saw the grin slid off Russia's face like cold meat on a slab. The Russian man's eyes gleamed crazily as a black aura of doom spread around him, and Arthur paled visibly when he heard the other Nation start chanting.

"Kolkolkolkolkolkolkol..."

* * *

Thirty minutes later and still nursing his migraine, Arthur found himself having dinner with Russia. Or more like Russia was cheerfully having dinner, while Arthur sat on the chair looking utterly depressed. "For the love of God, someone kill me now..." Rubbing his forehead, he took a sip of water. "I just can't catch a break, can I?" he pondered miserably.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat, Kirkland? You do not look very well." Arthur looked up immediately, his thoughts interrupted by the Russian's concerned voice. "Oh no, I'm just, perfectly, peachy! Nothing that sleep won't cure." He forced out a laugh, hoping Russia wouldn't notice how forced his words were, or the vein that was throbbing on his head, or the smile that had actually been a grimace just two seconds ago...

Russia tilted his head curiously at him, before smiling and returning to his meal. "That's good. It would not do for you to fall ill, Kirkland. I heard that you will be presenting something on the environment, da?" Arthur nodded reluctantly. "Yes. Research done by my scientist has shown that the carbon footprint can actually be reduced by 20% if just a few extra measures were taken..."

30 minutes later, and Arthur was shocked that he was enjoying his conversation with Russia. The giant showed that he, unlike 80% of the Nations, actually did pay attention during the previous World Summit meetings that they had. Displaying well-rounded knowledge and cool logic, Russia and Arthur had debated and discussed his findings with comparison with what Russia's own people had discovered, filling up some of the gaps that the British scientist had failed to cover, while correcting some of the conclusions that the Russians had made. Arthur observed Russia carefully as the Nation took a sip of wine. He had always thought that the great Northern country was nothing more than a brute that relied on force and threats to get his way. "You can't really judge a book by its cover." He realised. To think of Russia as an uncivilized lout was actually a foolish thing to do. Arthur sometimes forgot that Russia was a Nation that was almost as old as he was, and thus was not only experienced in matters of war, but civil matters as well. True, that did not diminish the fact that if Ivan Braginski so wished it, he could snap your neck in half, but it did give Arthur reason to reconsider his opinion of him.

Arthur failed to stifle a real yawn this time. Russia chuckled. "Ah, you must be tired, Kirkland. Perhaps it is time for bed, da?" Finishing his drink, Russia called for the paycheck. Arthur was already starting to go drowsy. These days, he required more sleep than usual. His daily amount of naps had doubled, but he still felt equally as exhausted. It was embarrassing really, as Russia helped him up to his room. He was sleeping so much these days, just like... "Just like a cat." He shuddered.

When they finally reached the room, Arthur mumbled to Russia. "It's alright now, Russia, I'm fine." His fingers fumbled for the doorknob. Wishing the other Nation a good night, he pushed open the door, anxious to slip back into his pyjamas. However, at that moment...

"_O! say can you see by the dawn's early light,  
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming_..."

Arthur switched off his phone immediately and threw it against the wall. Before it even hit, his room phone started ringing as well. Arthur responded by disconnecting the phone. Barely a second later, a bright light flared out from the window. Arthur peeked through his fingers and felt his temper starting to boil at the sight of the helicopter spotlight on his room.

"America..." He was so going to tear him to bits.

Stalking over, he snatched his mobile up and mashed the buttons. The phone was answered almost immediately. "What. Do. You. Want!" he hissed angrily.

"Hi Iggy! Just give me a moment, I'll tell the heli to go away..." Alfred's annoying voice grated on Arthur's nerves. He tried to take deep breaths. "Keep yourself calm, old boy, you can do it, steady, steady...just count to ten, it'll be fine..."

America's glee filled voice cut through his mantra. "How're you enjoying your stay so far? Had any...surprises?" Arthur furrowed his brow in confusion. "Surprises? What are you talking about America?" He snapped back. All he heard from the other end was a chuckle. "Well...seeing as you were being so mean to me for the whole of last week...("One, Two, Three, Four, Five...breath...breath...") I thought that I should teach you a lesson or two ("Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten...breath...breath...") so I put you and that crazy commie in the same hotel!"

A deadly silence filled the room, while Alfred continued boasting on the other side of the phone. "I also thought of putting Feliks in the next room, but I couldn't get him to leave Toris. But I did manage to get France to agree to come and visit you in..." There was a pause as Alfred went to check his watch. "...five minutes. The staff are under orders from me to let him into your room, so there's no point in locking the door..."

No words would describe how Arthur Kirkland was feeling at this moment. (The author won't even try =P)

"...and I hope that next time you'll think twice before going against a hero, and-"

With a scream of rage and fury, Arthur grabbed the phone and smashed it repeatedly against the wall, punctuating each blow with a shriek. "THAT! INSOLENT! UNGRATEFUL! PIG-HEADED! IDIOTIC! FUC-!"

Midway between the last word, Arthur suddenly remembered what Wales had told him_. "Just make sure you keep your mind clear, and reign in that temper of yours..."_

Too late.

As pain shot through his body, he collapsed on the ground. The phone clattered against the floor next to him. Moaning in agony, he curled his fingers as the claws broke through yet again. Gritting his teeth till he felt blood on his tongue where his fangs had elongated and pierced. Bracing himself as his ears forcefully morphed from one shape to another. And finally letting out a yell of pain as his tail tore through his body.

Shaking with anger and hurt after the transformation, he felt his claws extend. The desire to scratch out the boy's eyes was overwhelming him. Panting, he tried to calm himself down. "I've got to clear my mind...recast the spell...before the frog gets here..."

"You are definitely not well, Kirkland."

Eyes widening in horror, Arthur slowly faced upwards towards that childish tone, and his cat green eyes met with piercing amethyst ones. The door was closed, but the Russian was still there, and his creepy smile was growing wider and wider. "You are quite adorable, da?"

* * *

_Yes, Russia has found out England's secret in just day one! How will England manage for the remainder of his stay in the USA? Find out..._

_...in one month's time. MOOJAJAJAJA. *evil laugh*_


	5. Chapter 5: Il est le mien!

_Yeah, I wrote another chapter down, couldn't resist. I came on this scene while reading Macroeconomics and Europe, lol. Enjoy!_

_I do not own Hetalia._

* * *

**Chapter 5: Il est le mien!**

Francis glided down the corridor, a debonair smile on his face and a rose in one hand. Amerique had informed him that Angleterre was in need of some "assistance" in the matters of l'amour, and who was he to deny his short-tempered neighbour this one chance of finally finding true happiness? "Ah, Angleterre, your day has come indeed!" He thrilled.

Twirling, he finished with a flourish in front of the door. He knocked elegantly, and prepared to take England with his two hands. As the door creaked open by an inch, France immediately burst out "Mon petit lapin, the master is here to show you the ways of love! Come into my arms! Let us be one under the stars tonight!" His hands itched at the chance to ravage England after all their long years of rivalry, and a lecherous look appeared on his face as the door finally opened.

* * *

Ivan couldn't help but smile broader, as England scrambled backwards towards the wall, panic etched on his face, but the glare in his eyes retaining its usual viscous sheen. His cat ears flattened against his head while his tail flicked violently against the floor. In short, he was a kitten in distress, placed between a tight spot and a corner. Which, both literally and figuratively speaking, he was in.

Before Ivan could move though, a sudden knock from the outside caught his attention. He calmly walked towards the door and opened it a crack. When the declaration of "Angleterre, the master is here to show you the ways of love!" was over, Ivan was finding it very difficult to resist the temptation to giggle. Slowly, he took out his faucet pipe from under his coat, but he continued to wear his trademark grin on his face as he pushed the door open gently.

"Hello Bonnefoy, this is a pleasant surprise. And yes, I would very much want to be one with you."

Francis let out a girly scream and threw himself back when it was not his beloved ange, but big, scary Russia who filled the door frame. Pointing a shivering finger, he shrieked "You-you're not Angleterre! What are you doing in his room!" The happy-looking Russian answered cheerfully, "Kirkland and I were going through his notes for tomorrow's presentation. It is important work, Bonnefoy, and Kirkland is very, very busy." Francis gulped as Russia took another step forward, his hands on his faucet pipe. Already the temperature seemed to have plummeted. "Though, I do not mind taking his place. You are a bit too scrawny to take me into your arms, so I would have to take you in mine instead, Bonnefoy. Would you like me to do so? I think you'd be very warm indeed..."

At the first "kol", Francis had fled the corridor. He didn't even wait for the elevator, and just sprinted down the staircase. He kept running until he was back in his own hotel room a few blocks away, the door securely locked and barricaded. Gasping for air, Francis felt his own thumping heart batter against his ribs. "Sacre bleu!" He wheezed. "La Russie...and Angleterre! What on earth is going on?"

Suddenly, realization hit him. His eyes widened with shock. It had to be that, there was no mistake about it, why else would the communist have his faucet pipe out. He had to call someone, quickly, before it was too late for his Angleterre! He fumbled for his phone and dialled. At the sound of the pick up, France blurted out.

"Antonio, La Russie is trying to claim Angleterre's vital regions!"

"EH!"

* * *

If he was completely honest with himself, Arthur would've liked nothing else but to dig a hole in the ground and go there to die. The fact that Russia, demonic sunflower-hugging psychotic Russia, had found out his secret meant that his life as he knew it was over.

His heart was hammering in his rib cage as said Nation locked the door. "That was strange, da? I thought Bonnefoy wanted to be one, but he just ran away. Ah well." Arthur's eyes narrowed as Russia walked over to him and knelt so that he was eye-to-eye with him, his smile never wavering.

"St-stay the hell away from me, you communist bastard!" He snarled.

Russia pouted. "That's not very nice, Kirkland. Didn't I just save you from Bonnefoy? Unless you really wanted him to come in. If that's the case, than I apologise. I'll go call him now, da? I have his number right here..."

"No, for God's sake man, NO!" As Russia took out his mobile, Arthur reacted immediately by swiping it out of his hand.

"Ah!"

Russia winced and quickly withdrew his hand. A thin line of blood trickled down the pale skin. "There was no need to hurt me Kirkland. I thought we were friends..." Russia frowned as he examined the damage.

Arthur just stared at his hand in horror as he registered the blood on his claws.

"I just scratched the most mentally unstable Nation in the world."

His doom was sealed. Russia's hand was coming closer and closer, an unreadable expression on his face, and all Arthur could do was shut his eyes tight as he waited for the pain to start. He felt the other man's touch on his head and braced himself for the worse.

"Pet, pet."

What?

A feeling of peace and lethargy suddenly washed over him as his ears tingled. He shivered as something jolted through his spine, his nerves all crazy. However, the shock slowly faded away. He felt his body relax as his initial fear was gradually being washed away by the massaging. Arthur couldn't help but let out a sigh of contentment.

"Там там киска, я не ушибу вас, которые хорошая киска…"

Arthur shuddered with pleasure as he felt fingers fondling his cat ears. Part of him realised just how wrong this whole thing seemed, but at that moment he didn't care. Involuntarily, he pressed his head closer to the source of the enjoyable tickling as he let out a deep rumbling sound from his throat.

Wait, was he PURRING!

His eyes snapped open immediately.

Russia was grinning away like a little boy as his hand started scratching behind the ears.

He knew he had to say something soon, this was Russia for crying out loud! But why was it getting so difficult to think clearly? "Ru-Russia, w-what are you...rrrr...doing..." He half mumbled half purred as the other Nation continued the heavenly petting. His eye lids started getting heavy again as the rough throaty sound continued to fill the room.

"I must look like such a fool, but lord, this feels so gooood..." he thought to himself as he started nuzzling against Russia's chest, anxious for more contact. Funny, he never thought Russia would be so warm. And comfy. Must be the coat, he decided. All common sense gone out the window, and he let himself be controlled by the feline inside. His tail swished from one side to the other lazily, gently beating against the carpeted floor as he rubbed his head against the taller man, who was now crooning away in soothing Russian while his fingers continued their magic.

Eventually though, Russia pulled his hand away. Arthur let out a mew of protest before he could stop himself. "Хорошая киска, вы мой друг теперь, да?"

Arthur immediately snapped out of his dream-like state.

"Argh, what did you do to me!" He shoved the man away from him, his face beet red with embarrassment. "What the hell was all of that about you git!"

The other man seemed unfazed by his shouting and merely giggled. "Oh Kirkland, you are so adorable! Just like little Kolkhoz back home. I knew I should've brought him for this year's meeting."

Arthur shot him a murderous look, his cheeks still burning. "Little Kolkhoz?" He repeated through gritted teeth.

Russia nodded. "Yes, my cat back home. Toris gave him to me a few days ago. I really do like cats, especially kittens. They're so fluffy and soft that I can't help but cuddle them. I like them almost as much as sunflowers." He laughed softly. "Little Kolkhoz likes it when I scratch him behind the ears, and I thought you might appreciate the same treatment. You did enjoy it, da?"

That explained how Russia knew how to reduce him to a simpering idiot. He turned away and scowled, but only half-heartedly. He hated to admit it, but he really did enjoy those last few minutes... he sneaked a glance out of the corner of his eye at Russia as the man went on and on about the adventures of his kitten back home. "Maybe I could get Russia to..."

Arthur gave himself a mental smack.

"Don't you dare go there, Arthur Kirkland!"

He barely heard Russia's question as he scolded himself.

"So Kirkland, why are you like this? As cute as you look, you do realise that such genetic experimentation will create uproar amongst us all, da? Or is this part of your presentation tomorrow as well? How nice of you to share your research with us!"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind going through all the possible choices he had. One, he could lie to Russia, cook up some cock and bull story. He supposed he could pull it off if he played cute with the man. Inwardly, he shuddered, but desperate times did call for desperate measures. The second option was even more unappealing. Arthur didn't want to know what Russia would say if he told him the truth.

However before he could open his mouth, his ears pricked up at the sound of running footsteps. His eyebrows furrowed as one ear twitched. "It's getting louder..." He realised, and then his eyes widened as the sound got closer and closer.

"Oh no..."

Both men jumped when the wooden door started rattling against its hinges as someone on the other side started hammering on it.

"Ange, are you alright? Speak to me, mon cher! Oh Antonio, I think we're too late!"

"Move out of the way amigo, I've got this covered! YAAAH!"

Suddenly, Arthur found himself enveloped in darkness as Russia quickly threw his coat over him. As he struggled with the heavy thing, he heard the door shudder and smash open.

* * *

Antonio stepped over the broken door, courtesy of the battle axe that he was gripping with both hands. He shifted to a defensive stance as he faced a bewildered Russia. "Get away from Inglaterra, Rusia," he said firmly as he pointed the tip of the weapon at the bigger Nation. "I don't want to hurt you, but if I have to, then I will!"

Francis already had his rapier out, his usual playful expression replaced with a more serious one. "The game's up La Russie. Leave Angleterre alone, or you'll have to face the both of us."

Russia looked at the both of them, confused. "Err...I'm afraid I do not really follow. Exactly what am I supposed to be doing?"

"Do not play the fool, La Russie. You're trying to take mon petit lapin's vital regions! I won't let anyone touch Angleterre in such a disgraceful manner!"

"Exactamente! We won't stand by and let you hurt him!"

"That privilege is wholly reserved for moi!"

"Sí- wait, what!"

Francis was so caught up with his emotions that he failed to notice the shocked look that Antonio threw at him.

"No one but France should have the first share of the spoils! Angleterre est la mienne, et a toujours été la mienne!" France drew himself up proudly, as he aimed rapier at Russia. "I will not forgive anyone who takes him before I do. If you insist on laying your claim on him, then I'm afraid I will not simply stand down and accept this disgusting union. The only one who Angleterre will be one with is me, you communist upstart, and I can assure you that I will fight down to the very last man to keep him!"

As France continued his proclamation of love and the will of God, Antonio took a few steps away from the flared up Frenchman. "I don't think that's the reason why we should be trying to rescue Inglaterra..." But seeing how furious Francis was, Antonio wisely decided to keep that thought to himself. "Where is Inglaterra anyway?" He wondered.

His question was answered when a very angry Brit covered in a coat a few sizes too big for him punched Francis straight in the face.

"Since when did you have the God-given rights to my body, you perverted frog!"

"Mon petit lapin, you're safe! Did La Russie hurt you? Were you at the bottom or on top?"

"ARGH! Keep those hands of yours away from me, you wine bastard, or I'll be sure to freeze all French assets in England before the night is over!"

"Ah, but you've always had ready access to my assets ange. I've been waiting for you to visit my _La dame de fer_ for so long, Angleterre!"

"What are you blabbering about, I have been on the Eiffel – Oh God, fuck you France!"

"Really mon cher?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter for once will you!"

"I am the country of l'amour and passion, Angleterre. What do you expect? You speak of making love like it's barbaric and brutal, but I can assure you ange that it's a wonderful experience. In fact, I think it's Dieu's gift to human kind to experience such ecstasy, and therefore I take it as my duty to spread l'amour as far as I can."

"Fascinating, but keep your religious beliefs and your hands to your side of the Channel, you slimy freak!"

As the two men continued to bicker Antonio stood at the corner, feeling more and more like a third wheel. "Maybe I should leave those two alone? I don't think I'm really needed after all...but what will I do now?" He frowned, completely oblivious to Francis's attempts to grope a certain region on England's body while the latter struggled to keep the man off. "I was supposed to go drinking with Francis, but I think that that's out of the question now... Sé, I'll go and visit Lovi!" Antonio cheered up instantly at the thought of his cute tomatito and started to leave. However, a hand suddenly slammed down on his shoulder.

"Bonnefoy and Kirkland are such good friends, da? I wish I had good friends like that as well..."

Antonio slowly turned around, his face paling. He gulped nervously as Russia smiled down on him expectantly.

"How would you like to be one with me, Fernandez? Kolkolkolkolkol..."

"DIOS!"

* * *

Arthur slammed the door (he had fixed it with magic while Russia had escorted/scared off the other two men) behind him and locked it as he cursed and swore about crazy Frenchmen and their equally nutty Spanish companions. "Who the hell brings a battleaxe with him to a World meeting promoting peace! And you!" He directed a glare at Russia, who was laughing quietly. Arthur jabbed a finger at him. "I don't know exactly what you find so funny about the situation, but I'll have you know that I do not appreciate being made a fool out of, so cease your giggling this instant!"

The giant placed a hand over his mouth as he tried to stifle his laughter. "Da Kirkland. I cannot help it though, it was really amusing to see Bonnefoy trying to touch you down there."

Arthur shuddered. "Don't remind me," he muttered angrily. He took off the coat and threw it back at Russia, his ears springing up again after being bent downwards by the heavy fabric. "Thank you for the coat though. I assume you covered me with it to protect my secret?"

Russia slipped it back on and grinned. "You are very welcome Kirkland. I was worried that Bonnefoy and Fernandez would find out. Do you think they suspect anything?"

Arthur snorted. "Those two bloody twits are as thick as planks of wood," he said sourly. "I doubt that they even noticed anything. France probably just chalked it up to my bad fashion sense."

"If you say so, Kirkland. But now that we are alone, I think you owe me at least an explanation."

"You'll get your damn explanation. Just give me a minute, will you?" Arthur huffed. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath to calm down. As his tense muscles relaxed and his mind was cleared of all distractions, he chanted the words to the spell, focusing only on his magic.

"Mighty oak, grant me power, strengthen the spell, this very hour!" His eyes snapped open as he formed the correct signs with his fingers.

Ivan gasped in surprise when England's eyes opened, faintly glowing. An intricate pattern suddenly appeared on the floor, pulsing with green light. Tendrils grew from it and covered England in an emerald glow. At first, it seemed to just be a pillar of light shooting upwards, but as branches and leaves started to form, Ivan realised that it was taking shape. More specifically, a tree. It flourished and grew, completely engulfing England. Russia didn't know whether to feel afraid for the man, or to be in awe of what he was witnessing.

Just as sudden as it had started, the tree exploded into tiny green lights. Ivan sneezed, smelling damp earth and forest. He had no idea how he felt a breeze ruffle his clothes as the windows were all closed, and for the tiniest of moments he thought he heard giggling around him.

England stood there perfectly normal as the green lights that had showered him slowly vanished. A charm on his neck was floating, pulsing green, before it just dropped against his chest.

His arms were on his sides as he raised one eyebrow at the Ivan's stunned expression.

"Still don't believe in magic?"

The surprise on his face melted away. Ivan shook his head as a small, but genuine smile, formed on his lips.

"I've always believed, Kirkland."

"Well then, sit yourself down, because I've got a lot to tell you. Tea?"

"Da. But first..."

"What?"

"Will you be one-"

"NO."

* * *

_Oh wow, this chapter was fun to write, especially with Arthur and Francis. I got the reference about the "Eiffel Tower" from "Letters from Ivan", a really funny fanfic. Go find it, peeps! However, I regret that I have absolutely no idea how to write Spain out...sorry guys..._

_Hope this chapter was worth the wait, and I apologise that it's taking me forever. _

_Some translations! _

_**French**__:_

_Il est le mien: He is mine_

_Amerique : America_

_Angleterre: England_

_L'amour: Love_

_Mon Petit Lapin: My Little Rabbit_

_Sacre Bleu: I don't know what this is, but I'll throw it in because it seems to suit the situation. =P_

_La Russie: Russia_

_Ange: Angel_

_Mon Cher: My Dear_

_Moi: Me_

_Angleterre est la mienne, et a toujours été la mienne: England is mine, and has always been mine. _

_La dame de fer__: Literally meaning the lady of iron, it's a nickname for the Eiffel Tower. Francis, you naughty boy: ;)_

_Dieu: God_

_**Russian**__:_

_Там там киска, я не ушибу вас, которые хорошая киска__ : There there kitty, Vanya won't hurt you, that's a good kitty..._

_Хорошая киска, вы мой друг теперь, да__: Good kitty, you are my friend now, yes?_

_**Spanish**__:_

_Amigo: Friend_

_Inglaterra: England_

_Rusia: Russia_

_Exactamente: Exactly_

_Si: Yes_

_Se: I know_

_Dios: God_


	6. AN ANNOUNCEMENT AND A REQUEST

**AN ANNOUNCEMENT AND A REQUEST **

Hey guys, the Goldstein Sharpshooter here! I forgot to add this announcement in the previous chapter, so, yeah, sorry if you got excited for a chapter update, because I haven't written it out yet! Please just give me 5 minutes of your time to read this announcement, as it will dictate the course of the Cat's Eyes for the next 3 chapters.

Basically, I need to know you guys want. There will be three chapters after this, Part 1 and 2 of the World Summit, as well as the 4th of July. Should I put in more Kitty!Arthur jokes / humour during these chapters? Like how he'll react to fish, or a piece of string, stuff like that. Or should I cut down on the jokes, and put more serious stuff inside? This is because I feel that I'm really pushing it a bit far with the humour, and if I keep putting them in then it'll take forever for me to finish this part of the story. However, I recognise that it's the humour that makes the story interesting. So, I'd prefer to leave it up to you guys to make the decision for me.

Please check out the new poll on my profile. The previous poll's results were 9 for Fantasy/humour, while 2 for crack, so I guess that means we're having a slightly serious storyline interlaced with the familiar Hetalian humour.

Therefore, I'm asking you guys, as my readers, to decide what you want. Regardless of what you pick, the next step after the three chapters is pretty much set already, as well as the ending, so don't feel pressured that you'd get the short-end of the stick if you picked one over the other.

Well, that's all for now. See you guys in 3 weeks with a new chapter, because I'm still stuck in the middle of my exams...Sigh...


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